


DBH OS:ST

by MonroseMeadows



Series: DBH OS:ST [1]
Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-06-11
Updated: 2019-06-11
Packaged: 2020-05-01 17:30:45
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 421
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19182469
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MonroseMeadows/pseuds/MonroseMeadows
Summary: I will collect all my DBH related one shots and short stories here for easier access.





	DBH OS:ST

The room is shrouded in darkness. The curtains sway gently in the wind, that passes the partially opened window. Beams of weak silver fall onto the parquet floor in the shape or small squares. It traces the curves of a muscular form that is wrapped in the security of the black satin bedsheets. While the house is tranquil, the world moves at a mile per minute. The man’s brain was serene, removed far away from the noise. His chest rhythmically falls and rises again under the sheets, which causes them to slowly slide down the shape of his torso. The moonlight crept into the curvature of his muscles, illuminating the shadows that sharpened their form.

He liked to observe him at times like these. Not as a human, a lifeform foreign to himself. The stark contrast that divided man and machine. Not as a partner, a likeminded laborer under the watchful eye of mother brain. The similarities that breached the gap of segregation. He liked to observe him as a form of beauty often disregarded by trained eyes in their incessant pursuit of perfection. Under the guise of human durability, underlined by intimidation that served as a finishing spice on the dish that was imperfection.

Often had he swallowed an assortment of prejudice that was dependent on his aesthetic design. An aspect in which he had no say until the concept of freedom was mentioned, and free will had become a destination that many unsuccessfully ventured toward. His reflection was an aspect of reality he tended to avoid, as to not awaken sleeping dogs. What humans perceived as perfection, was gifted to artificial lifeforms that failed to understand the concept itself.

“Stop staring at me and come to bed.”

He liked the rough edge to his voice. Not the years of inhaling toxic fumes that could be held responsible for internal damage. The idea of masculinity hidden behind a simple phonetic sound. Not the hoarse undertone that cradled the exhaustion that steered his biological make-up. He liked the rich bass that wrapped itself around his audio units and melted like a fresh plate of butter that was left out in the open, on a hot summer’s day. A minor element that was part of an incomplete, and abstract artwork. Given life by earth colors that intertwined with shades known to be void of light.

“Callum…”

He sent a smile to roam the darkness, unnoticed by closed eyes. But the intent was there and that was all that mattered.

“I’m coming, Gavin.”


End file.
